Second Chances
by Windchime68
Summary: Is it fate, the Maker, or simple chance that brings them together once more?  Sequel to Blood and Thunder / Truth and Consequences.  Surana/Jowan.   And a little Zevran for good measure .
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I make no claim to any of the characters in this story (except for the unnamed protagonist) – they belong to others, and I simply borrowed them for a while. I hope I didn't tarnish them in the process._

_This brings to a close the story I began in Blood and Thunder, and continued in Truth and Consequences. If you haven't already done so, you may wish to read those first._

_The encounter with Jowan described here is inspired by a hidden/bugged quest called Jowan's Intention: more information on it can be found on the Dragon Age Wiki. The alias of Levyn and a couple of lines of the dialogue come from that quest._

_As always, any comments/reviews will be much appreciated. Thanks for reading._

**

* * *

Second Chances**

She follows Alistair into the clearing at a run, already mentally readying her spells. The darkspawn they have both sensed are clustered on the far side, menacing a small group of travellers – refugees, by their attire – who huddle in terror between them and the darkspawn.

All but one, who has a mage staff and is casting spells of his own to hinder the darkspawn's approach.

Alistair shouts a warning and the refugees scatter as he charges through them. Sten and Oghren move to flank the enemy, while Zevran slips round the edge of the clearing to find their backs.

She and Morrigan unleash lightning and ice and fire upon the darkspawn, and Leliana harries them with her bow and arrows.

It is a fluid synergy that they have honed over many battles, and the darkspawn stand no chance against it.

When the fight is done, the refugees turn to her to babble their thanks, and her eyes widen in shock when she sees the face of the dark-haired mage.

He has exchanged his torn and bloodied mage robes for simple peasant clothes, and his hair is tidier and a little shorter than when she saw him last. The bruises and cuts that he bore then have now healed, and he carries himself with a surety that reminds her of simpler times.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally speaks in a hushed, almost reverent tone. "It's you!"

He takes a step towards her, and then stops as Alistair strides up to put himself between them, pulling his helm off. His expression is thunderous. "Stay away from her, maleficar!"

Jowan recoils from the former templar's fury. Jowan's companions look at Alistair in shock, and one of them, a blond man, steps forward. "Don't be scaring good Master Levyn! He's saved us three times over, and not once have I seen him use forbidden magics." There is a murmur of agreement from the others.

"Levyn?" Alistair scoffs . "You know nothing of the man you travel with."

The blond man holds his gaze steadily. "As I said, ser, he saved our lives. That's all I need to know."

Alistair opens his mouth to speak again, but stops when Leliana places a gentle hand on his arm. He turns his head to follow the bard's gaze, which is locked on her. He sees the mixture of hope and anxiety showing clearly on her face, and he stares at her for a moment before turning away, shaking his head in disgust.

oOo

_Alistair has never forgiven her for defying Bann Teagan and setting Jowan free. He has been cold towards her since Redcliffe, and while he still follows her lead, the respect he once had for her has worn perilously thin. _

_It didn't help that, shortly after they left Redcliffe, she not only spared the life of the assassin sent to kill them, but allowed him to join them. Alistair openly argued that decision, and was furious that she ignored his concerns._

_Zevran has more than proven himself since then, and even Alistair has grudgingly come to accept the elf as a – well, perhaps not a _trusted_ companion, but a valuable ally at least._

_But she knows he hasn't forgotten the way she shouted him down._

oOo

"It grows late," she announces, breaking the awkward silence. She looks around the clearing. "This seems as good a place as any to set up camp." She takes a deep breath, steals a sideways glance at Alistair, and turns to Jowan. "Levyn, you and your companions are welcome to share our camp tonight."

Alistair wheels round and stares incredulously. "What? You can't be serious!"

"Where would you have them go, then?" she challenges him. "Don't be petty, Alistair. It doesn't suit you."

He clenches his jaw, anger and disappointment showing on his face. "Do as you will," he says finally, his voice hard and flat. "I'm going to find wood for the fire." He turns on his heel and stalks off into the forest.

Jowan approaches her. "I should leave," he says softly. He glances in the direction Alistair has headed. "I don't wish you any more trouble."

She shakes her head firmly. "Stay. Please." She looks round. Both Jowan's companions and her own are watching them with great interest, and she suddenly feels the need to get away from prying eyes. "I'd like to talk. Will you walk with me a while?"

"Of course."

She moves towards the path that leads out of the clearing, and after a moment's hesitation he follows her.

Zevran smoothly intercepts them. "Allow me to accompany you, my dear Warden. I can watch for dangers in the woods while you..." He gives Jowan an assessing look, curiosity burning in his golden eyes. "...talk."

She shakes her head. "No."

"I urge you to reconsider. I will follow at a discreet distance, if you wish. You need not know I am there."

"I said _no_, Zev." She hesitates, then adds, "If you really want to help, keep an eye on Alistair for me, at least until he's cooled off."

It's a genuine request; Alistair's moods have been getting ever darker since Redcliffe, and it worries her more than she wants to admit.

But it's also a dismissal, and that hasn't escaped Zevran's notice. An unreadable expression flicks across his face, quickly replaced by the familiar smirk. He bows to her with a flourish. "As you desire, my dear Warden."

She feels Zevran's eyes focussed intently on her as she and Jowan leave the clearing, but she doesn't turn around.

He's always known where her heart lay. And it's not as if they've ever made any promises to each other. Quite the opposite, in fact.

oOo

_She all but runs from the camp, angry tears clouding her vision. She can hear Leliana's voice fading behind her, chastising Alistair for his unthinkingly cruel words, but she doesn't wait to hear if her fellow Warden makes any reply._

_Alistair has been brooding on the events at Redcliffe, it seems. Tonight all his grievances finally came spilling out in a slew of angry recriminations. His words were many and colourful, but they boiled down to three things: she should have tried harder to save Connor _and_ Isolde; she should have found a way that didn't involve blood magic; and she should never have set a blood mage free to endanger others._

_All of that she might have borne. But then he had said she didn't deserve to bear the title Grey Warden._

_Each accusation strikes true, because they mirror her own doubts, but she cannot tell him so. To admit that would be to shatter her precarious position as leader, and, Maker knows, Alistair doesn't want the job. And then where would they be? Someone has to hold this ragtag group of misfits together and keep them on course. They have a Blight to stop._

_So instead of answering, she made some weak excuse to get away from the camp. She doesn't even remember what it was._

_Running away isn't exactly the act of a good leader either, she supposes. But it was that or scream at him. Or burst into tears in front of them all. Or perhaps both at once._

_She hears a soft footfall behind her and freezes. _

_It can't be Alistair. He'd never have followed her, and anyway, he couldn't move that quietly if his life depended on it._

_She takes a breath and turns, expecting to see Leliana, or perhaps Morrigan._

_Instead, she looks into the eyes of the assassin whose life she spared five days hence._

"_Come to finish the job, after all?" she demands hotly._

"_Come now," he chides her gently, amusement dancing in those golden eyes. "If that were so, do you truly think I would have allowed you to hear my approach?"_

"_Perhaps you're not as good an assassin as you think you are," she suggests, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips._

"_Well, I did fail in my most recent assignment, this is true," he concedes. "But, all things considered, I believe that has worked out quite well for us both, no?"_

"_I suppose it has," she agrees. "But if not for that, then why _did_ you follow me?"_

_He shrugs expansively. "The atmosphere in camp was... unpleasant," he states blandly. "Tell me, however do you put up with that overbearing, sanctimonious fool?"_

"_He's not a fool," she protests defensively._

_He smirks. "But he _is_ overbearing and sanctimonious, yes?"_

_She feels the smile twitching again. "Your words, not mine." She sighs. "He does have good reason to be angry at me, though."_

"_Perhaps so, but still he should not have spoken to you in such a manner."_

_She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. Just drop it, Zevran, please."_

_He pouts a little. "I have told you, it is Zev to my friends."_

_She arches an eyebrow. "Are we friends now, then?"_

_He smiles roguishly. "Are we not?" He steps closer to her, and she is suddenly intensely aware of his presence. In a deeper, huskier tone, he adds, "We could be more than friends, if you so desire."_

"_Are you always this forward?" she returns, noticing with some alarm that her heart beat has quickened. The assassin's nearness is... the word she wants is _unsettling_, but the words that dance in her head instead are _exhilarating _and _intoxicating_._

_A smile plays on his lips. "Usually, yes." The smile widens. "That did not sound like a no."_

"_You think you're quite the charmer, don't you?" she challenges, her cheeks flushing._

"_I think many have found me charming, yes." His eyes twinkle. "That is still not a no." He runs a finger lightly along her jaw, and it causes a thrill to travel up her spine. Maker's breath, when did he get so close? She wasn't even aware that he'd moved. She feels his breath as he leans in closer still, and his hand travels up from her jawline to trace delicately along the edge of her ear. She shudders at the sensation, which is not unpleasant._

_No, not unpleasant at all._

"_Zevran," she protests weakly, her voice dangerously husky. "Please..."_

_He pulls back the tiniest amount to study her face. "Please?" He seems amused. "Please... don't? Or please... do?"_

_She tries to muster her willpower. "I can't... this isn't right. I... I love... someone else."_

_He chuckles. "Oh, my dear Grey Warden... who said anything about love?" He stands back and crosses his arms, his eyes drinking her in from head to toe. She suddenly feels intensely vulnerable, as if she is standing before him naked. _

_To her embarrassment, the thought sends another thrill through her body._

"_Allow me to make things simple for you, my Grey Warden. I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."_

_She silently considers his words as he watches her, waiting for her answer. And when he finally sighs regretfully and turns away, she finds herself reaching out to touch his arm._

_As Zevran turns back, a question in his eyes, she pushes down the voice inside that tells her she is being disloyal to Jowan. It's not as if anything ever happened between them, after all – the attachment was always one-sided. Nor is it likely she will ever see him again._

_And since Redcliffe, she has felt so very alone._

"_Don't go, Zev."_

_He smiles as he leans in to kiss her. "As you desire."_

oOo

She and Jowan walk in silence, each stealing glances at the other as if to assure themselves that the other is still there.

After a while, Jowan speaks. "The elf... are you and he...?"

"Zevran?" She blushes. "Why would you ask that?"

He smiles faintly. "He called you 'my dear'. Twice. One might think he wanted me to know he has a prior claim."

She shakes her head. "Zevran has no claim on me, nor I on him."

"But... you _are_ lovers." It's more statement than question, but she nods anyway.

He exhales slowly. "I see."

Could that be regret she hears in his voice?

"It's a... convenient arrangement, nothing more." Maker, that sounds cold. But it's the simple truth, isn't it? "I don't love him, nor does he love me."

Jowan turns to look at her, his expression sad. "Does he make you happy, at least?"

"He... makes me feel wanted. He makes me feel less lonely."

"That's not the same thing as being happy."

She swallows. "I know." She clears her throat and changes the subject, trying to find safer ground. "Is it true? You saved those people?"

He gives a self-conscious half-laugh. "It's true, I did."

He tells her how he first found the group of refugees, trying to beat off a small pack of wolves with knives, sticks and bare hands. With pride and a little surprise in his voice, he tells how he leapt into the fray to fight the wolves, and found himself being named a hero by the grateful group. He explains that they asked him if he would travel with them to Denerim, and that he has since helped them to fend off a hungry bear and even take down a trio of darkspawn that attacked the group.

Sounding a little awed, he confesses that it feels surprisingly good to help people.

She smiles and catches his hand in hers, and he looks at it in surprise. "You see? I knew you had it in you."

He smiles bitterly. "If so, it is thanks to you, not me. I... I didn't want your faith in me to be wasted."

"You do yourself a disservice, Jowan. You already wanted to help, even before I found you in that cell."

He lets out a soft sigh. "Perhaps. But still, you are the one that made me want to be a better person."

An awkward silence falls, and she breaks it tentatively. "Your friend would not believe you a maleficar." She takes a deep breath. "Have you truly given up the blood magic?"

He nods. "I have." He shivers slightly. "Blood magic, it... made me feel powerful. It's seductive, I see that now. And it has cost me much." He glances at her. "Too much. I've had plenty of time to think, since..." He swallows. "I know it helped to save a child, but what I did at Redcliffe... it sickens me."

She stiffens. "What _we_ did at Redcliffe, you mean. You may have cast the spell, Jowan, but it was my decision. I'm the one who told you to do it." She stops walking, and meets his gaze when he turns to look at her. "It sickens me, too. I... I wish I could say that we did the right thing, and I still believe there wasn't a better choice, but..."

She tails off, shaking. It's the first time she's been able to admit even that much aloud to anyone. In the face of Alistair's disapproval, she hasn't dared to own up to her own misgivings, and they have instead been eating away at her inside. Being able to finally speak about it unlocks the guilt that she has buried, and before she knows what is happening she is sobbing in Jowan's arms, while he strokes her hair and makes comforting noises.

He lets her cry herself out, and when she finally looks up, she sees tears glistening on his own cheeks as well. "I'm so sorry," he whispers. "For everything."

She shakes her head. "No more apologies. We're long past that, you and I. I... I'm just glad you're here."

His arms tighten around her. "When I saw you, back there... I couldn't believe it. It's as if the Maker Himself blessed us with another chance."

He swallows, and she suddenly becomes aware of how closely she is pressed against him. She can feel his heart beating as if it was her own.

"My love..." he breathes.

She tenses and tries to pull away from him. "Don't!"

Consternation fills his expression. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes are filling with tears again, and she attempts to fight them back. "Don't say that. I don't want to hear those words, not from you! Not when you don't mean it!"

He holds her gently but firmly in his embrace. "But I do," he says quietly. "I told you I'd had time to think. I know now what a fool I was not to see what was right in front of me." He shakes his head. "Who else, but you? Who else would see the good in me, and bring it out, when everyone else, even me, saw only the blood mage? Who else would have kept faith in me all this time, when we both know I didn't deserve it? Who else would trust me still, after all I've done?" His voice takes on an urgent, pleading tone. "I love you. I do. You have to believe that."

She trembles in his arms. She wants to believe him, so badly. But previous hurts have built shields that are not so easily pierced. "What about Lily?"

He sighs. "My poor Lily." Pain shadows his eyes. "I never should have..." He meets her eyes, and nods slowly. "I loved Lily. Or... I thought I did. I never wanted any harm to come to her." He shakes his head. "But what I feel now... it's different. Stronger. More real, somehow." He gazes into her eyes with an intensity she's never seen from him. "After Redcliffe... I thought I'd never see you again. And whenever I thought about that... It was like someone had ripped out a part of me, and there was just this _emptiness_."

She feels the tension go out of her body as she nods. She understands that feeling all too well. Her doubts about his sincerity ebb away, and she hasn't the will to fight any longer against what she has wanted for so long.

He lowers his head towards her, and when their lips meet, it is with a crushing sense of inevitability.

He is hesitant at first, but when she responds he deepens the kiss eagerly, hungrily, demanding more.

She readily obliges.

She has been holding back for so long: hiding her feelings for Jowan, hiding her doubts about her own decisions, hiding her insecurities about leading her odd little company.

It feels wonderful to let it all go, and simply _be._

Jowan's hand is at the nape of her neck, lightly stroking the bare skin there, and she shivers under his touch. He takes this as an encouragement; his other arm tightens, pulling her even closer, until there is not even a hair's breadth between them. She can feel the heat from his body even through her robes and his shirt, feel both their hearts pounding.

When his hand drifts down her back she breaks their kiss with a gasp, and he breathes her name into her ear as he pulls at the ties securing her robes.

"Jowan!" she protests, laughing. She swats half-heartedly at his hands.

"I want you," he groans. "I know I have no right to ask it, not after everything... but I want to _see_ you, _feel_ you." He pulls back reluctantly, and puts his hands on either side of her face. "Meeting you again... I never thought we'd be given a second chance." His voice is low and husky. "I don't want to waste it."

She doesn't either. She's past pretending otherwise. She's wanted this, with him, for a very long time.

"Can we at least get off the sodding _path_ and find somewhere a little more private, first?" she laughs.

His eyes light up, and he catches her hand and darts into the woods, pulling her behind him.

oOo

They are still laughing as they stumble into a small, secluded clearing.

She giggles like a little girl when he pulls her into his arms, but the laughter is soon silenced altogether in favour of hungry kisses and murmured endearments. She pulls at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her fingers, and when he tugs at the ties of her robes in response, she lets the garment fall to the floor unselfconsciously, luxuriating in the feel of his hands on her bare flesh.

She rakes her fingers lightly down his back, and he exhales her name as if she is the very breath in his lungs. Over and over he tells her how beautiful she is, as his eyes and hands explore every inch of her.

He scoops up their clothing and lays it out as a makeshift blanket on the ground, and they sink together into a tangled mass of limbs until she hardly knows where she ends and Jowan begins.

She is hardly new to the art of lovemaking; Zevran has seen to that, has educated her in things she'd never dreamed of. But she feels nervous still, because this is _Jowan_, and nothing has prepared her for this moment.

It has never felt like this with Zevran. The former assassin has proved to be a most capable lover; she has never had any complaints on that score. But her heart has always remained locked away, untouched by their shared passion.

It is far from locked away now. This is the man of her dreams, the man she thought she would never have. She opens herself to him, both body and soul laid bare, and thinks she will never get enough of him. She matches his urgency with her own, both of them driven by the knowledge that time is fleeting. Together they ride the tides of lust to their inevitable conclusion , and she cries his name aloud like an invocation.

oOo

"I wish this night didn't have to end," he murmurs, nuzzling her neck. "I wish we could just stay here together, forever."

He was ever the dreamer, and she the realist.

She closes her eyes for a moment, and then turns her head to look in his eyes. "This is the real world, Jowan. Nothing lasts forever."

Nothing good, anyway.

He sighs. "I know, but..."

"But... you have a group of people relying on you to keep them safe. And I... I have an army to raise."

"I could come with you," he offers suddenly. "Help you fight the darkspawn, raise your army."

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, praying the tears won't come. "Oh, Jowan..." She swallows tightly. "I wish you could. You don't know how much I wish that. But..." She meets his gaze. "Alistair and I, we _have_ to do this. Together, whether we like it or not. We're the only Grey Wardens left. And you... he _really_ doesn't like you. He'd never tolerate you joining us. If you came with us... I don't know what he'd do." She shivers involuntarily, picturing Alistair's rage unleashed on Jowan. With an effort, she pushes the images from her head. "At the very least, he'd probably leave the group, and I can't take that chance. I just can't. It's up to me and Alistair to stop the Blight. I can't do it without him."

Jowan nods miserably.

"Besides," she laughs humourlessly, "our next destination is the Circle of Magi. Where I'm going to have to bend knee to Greagoir and Irving and _beg_ them to put aside their grievances with me and honour the Circle's treaty with the Grey Wardens." She looks steadily at him. "I doubt you want to accompany me to _that_ meeting."

He says nothing, but she feels the slight shudder that runs through him.

She pulls him close. "We have this one night, Jowan. That's _all_ we have. Please, let's just make the most of it." She kisses him with a desperate urgency.

Sensing her need, he responds in kind. This time their passion is even wilder, almost frantic, as if they believe that in this way they can somehow hold off the dawn.

oOo

Dawn comes, and passes, and reluctantly they rejoin their companions.

Their goodbyes are quiet, almost shy; everything they have to say has been said during the night, and does not bear repeating in the presence of others.

With tears in her eyes, she wishes him well and watches him leave with his new friends, while her own companions finish packing away their camp.

She maintains her watch until he passes slowly out of sight, looking back over his shoulder at her. She knows in her heart it is the last time she will ever see him.

Once Jowan is gone, she turns to Zevran, and quietly draws him away from the others, to tell him that their affair is over. With good humour and just a trace of regret, he agrees to respect her decision; he does not ask why.

The memories of her one night with Jowan are going to have to last her a lifetime. And she will not taint those memories with any other man's touch.


	2. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

He stands at the back of the crowd, his face partially hidden by the hood of his cloak. He draws a few curious stares, but most are too caught up in their sorrow to even notice him.

He clenches his fists. The entire city is putting on a grand show of being united in grief. 'The Hero of Ferelden', they've named her. Most of them never even _met_ her. What gives them the right to mourn her loss?

The new king's face is lined with sorrow and regret as he leads the honour guard in their slow procession through the city.

And, he fancies, more than a little guilt.

King. He makes a scornful noise, and the people around him give him reproving looks. He schools his expression into one of apology, and pulls his hood closer around him. He cannot afford to draw attention now, not with Alistair so near.

Alistair. Of all the people to put on the throne...

And yet _she_ was the one who did so. That's what they're saying. She put Alistair on the throne, and then sacrificed herself to defeat the archdemon. She ended the Blight, and saved them all.

But who was there to save her?

Not Alistair, evidently. He hopes that _is_ guilt he sees in the king's face, because the man _should_ feel guilt.

Not as much as he feels himself, though. It was his actions, his mistakes, that set her on this path. The fact that those actions led to her saving all of Ferelden from the Blight is cold comfort to him now.

Alistair and his royal guards have moved on, and now the funeral procession proper is drawing level with him. He catches his breath as he sees her body.

It's not that he doubted she was dead. Not really. But seeing her makes it real.

She has been magically preserved, of course, and there are no wounds or scars to be seen; one would think she merely died in her sleep. She is clothed in robes far finer than any he ever saw her wear.

And her face... oh, her sweet, beautiful face.

She looks perfectly at peace.

His belief in the Maker has always been tenuous. He invokes His name more as a matter of habit than faith. But now he hopes beyond hope that the Maker is indeed real, and that she is with Him.

And that one day, he'll be deserving of an afterlife that offers a chance of meeting her again.

With a heavy sigh, Jowan turns away as the funeral procession makes its way towards the city gates, at the start of its long journey to the Grey Wardens' headquarters. And looks directly into the golden eyes of a familiar elven face.

"Leaving so soon?" the elf asks with a smirk.

He tenses, prepared to run, although he doubts he can move fast enough. A quick glance to either side shows no other face he recognises; the elf appears to be alone. He casts his mind back, searching for the name. Ah, yes.

"Zevran."

The elf smiles and inclines his head slightly, extending his hands out to show that they hold no weapons. "Indeed. Peace, my friend. You have nothing to fear from me."

_Friend?_

Zevran gestures, and he follows the elf bemusedly into a quiet alley, away from the crowd. Part of his mind screams at such a foolhardy act, but something tells him he can trust Zevran.

He also suspects that if the elf actually wanted him dead, he would already be so.

Zevran stops and turns to face him. "You take a great risk to be here. Our beloved king would not take kindly to your presence, were it to become known to him."

He nods. This is hardly news to him. "I had to come. I needed to say goodbye."

Zevran inclines his head in acknowledgement. "As did we all, my friend."

Curiosity gets the better of him. "Why do you call me friend? We barely know each other."

Zevran chuckles. "We had something – someone – in common, did we not? Some might say that made us rivals. I prefer to think we simply share excellent taste."

Despite the outward humour, there is something odd in the elf's expression – almost as if there is something else hidden beneath the laughter. Something familiar.

"You loved her."

_It is a convenient arrangement, nothing more. I do not love him, nor does he love me._

Yet it seems he did. Did she know? Was she concealing feelings of her own?

Zevran's expression goes blank, and he stiffens almost imperceptibly. He laughs again, but it is tinged with bitterness, and the humour does not reach his eyes. "Love? Nothing so dramatic, my friend." He lets out a faint, wistful sigh. "Still, she did have a way of breaking down one's barriers, did she not? Even while she maintained her own beyond all reason."

"You loved her," Jowan repeats.

Zevran's eyes narrow, and his voice when he answers has a edge of steel to it. "An assassin can ill afford to indulge in such fancies. Nor would it have mattered if I had. Her heart belonged to you, my friend. She made that abundantly clear."

Jowan closes his eyes, feeling relief wash over him. He knows it was selfish of him, wanting her to continue to love him even when there was no likelihood they could ever be together. But he had wanted it nonetheless, and to hear otherwise would have been beyond bearing.

He opens his eyes again, to find Zevran gazing at him impassively.

Jowan swallows tightly. "Were you... were you with her? In the battle? At the end?"

Pain darkens the elf's eyes. "I was." He sighs. "She knew slaying the archdemon would cost her life, but she did not hesitate, nor did she fear that battle. She said it was necessary, to end the Blight." He hesitates, studying Jowan for a moment, and then adds, "To my knowledge, she had only one regret: that she had to put aside her own happiness in order to do so."

Tears sting at the corners of Jowan's eyes.

Zevran reaches into a pouch, and withdraws a scroll of paper, slightly tattered at the edges, tied with a faded blue ribbon. "I found this in her belongings, after... She would take it out often when she thought she was unobserved; sometimes she would open it, and sometimes she would simply hold it to her heart." The elf smiles faintly, and extends the scroll towards him. "I do not know what it contains, but I suspect it will have meaning for you. And I believe she would have wanted you to have it."

Jowan takes the scroll, and, with shaking fingers, he carefully unties the ribbon and unrolls the paper.

It is marred in a few spots by what are almost certainly tear stains, but the sketch is still recognisable.

He quickly rolls it back up again to avoid adding some tear stains of his own.

He takes a shaky breath. "I... I can't believe she had it all this time. I didn't even know she'd kept it." He exhales slowly. "Thank you."

The elf shakes his head. "No thanks are necessary. I owed her much, and there was little enough she would accept from me in return." His eyes glint as he meets Jowan's gaze. "Less still after the night she spent with you in the woods." He sighs dramatically. "But this much, I can do." He studies Jowan. "What will you do now? I do not think it would be wise for you to remain in Denerim."

Jowan lets out a bitter laugh. "You don't say." He shakes his head. "No, my plans lie outside the city. There is... something I need to do."

oOo

The roads are quiet. Even though the Blight has been ended and the darkspawn scattered, some still roam the countryside, and travellers are few and far between.

A few darkspawn will not deter him. He's fought them before, and he doesn't mean to let anything prevent him from reaching his destination.

The Grey Wardens are being rebuilt, they say, in Amaranthine. King Alistair has sent for Wardens from Orlais to train the new recruits from Ferelden. And there will be many to train. The Hero of Ferelden has inspired people from all walks of life to follow in her footsteps.

Rumour has it that – for the moment, at least, until their numbers in Ferelden are replenished – the Wardens will not turn away any worthy candidate, no matter their past. Even an apostate with a price on his head might be accepted, so long as he was willing to participate in their Joining.

There are also whispers that the Joining carries with it a risk, that not all survive – although no-one seems to know what determines success or failure.

The risks do not concern him. He means to join the Grey Wardens, or die trying. This is the way he will repay the faith she showed in him.

She always saw the man she thought he could be.

Jowan intends to become that man.


End file.
